There’s even a tidy living room area complete with a small sofa and a very comfortable leather lounger positioned across from a television mounted above a fireplace. The shelves are mostly bare—a few worn books are stacked on one, with an antique silver frame with a stock photo that probably came with it on another. That reminds me . . . I walk over to my backpack and pull out the small framed photo I carry with me of my mom holding me, and me holding Bella Sue, and I place it on the table next to the lounger.
I can’t help but think about how much my mom would’ve loved this place. A small smile spreads across my lips as I picture her sitting on the balcony telling me about that one time she went backpacking with her best friends in college. They got lost, almost died from a bear encounter, and ended up getting rescued by a park ranger. While I’m sure it was greatly embellished, she always laughed so much telling me that story. I’m lost in thought when the shrill ring of my cell phone snaps me back to reality. I grab it off the bedside table and see Gen’s name on the screen.
“Hey, beautiful,” I answer as I step out onto the balcony and pace the length of it.
“Hey, gorgeous. How’s mountain life? Killed a mountain lion with your bare hands yet?”
I laugh. “Is that what you think Colorado people do?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. You are one now, ya know.” I can hear a bit of sadness in her voice when she says that.
“Well, it’s my first day and I haven’t gone into town yet. I plan to in a little bit. But . . .” I hesitate, wondering if I should tell her about my first impression of Sawyer.
“What’s that but?” Gen is like a bloodhound; she can sniff out any little hesitation or secret.
“So, the guy who owns this Airbnb is . . .” I let out a sigh. “Wow.”
“Wow? As in . . . ? What’s he look like?”
“He’s probably at least 6’5”, longish dirty blond hair with one of those super-sexy mountain-man beards, and his eyes . . . oh my God, his eyes. They’re like this icy grayish blue. And I’m pretty sure you could sleep across his chest, it’s so wide!”
“So what you’re saying is you’re going to have a delicious, torrid affair and let him bang your brains out? Please say yes! I need to live vicariously through your vagina for a while.”
“Jesus, Gen, no! I don’t even know him. Besides, I feel like he already doesn’t like me. He seems really grumpy.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Oh, just that I’ve tried to talk a little with him and he seems like one of those standoffish types. Doesn’t want to talk or be bothered at all. Plus, this cabin is way up in the mountains and extremely remote, which tells me he chose it for a reason.”
“Hmm . . . this doesn’t bode well for you,” she says matter-of-factly.
“What doesn’t?” I ask as I hear her let out an overexaggerated sigh.
“Look, a super-sexy—albeit grumpy—bearded mountain man living in some remote cabin spells disaster. I’m telling you, a man like that has a story. There’s some tragic, unforgiving reason he’s chosen this remote mountain life, and you’ll only get your heart ripped out.”
I burst into laughter at her response. “You’re really dramatic, you know that? And what does his beard have to do with any of this?”
“I’m telling you, it’s a tale as old as time. A beard on a man like that is like a woman getting a bob after a breakup. If he isn’t a serial killer seeking anonymity and ducking the Feds in the Rocky Mountains, then he’s damaged goods. He probably had a family that was tragically taken from him—or even worse, murdered by his enemies right in front of him and he wasn’t able to protect them. Seen it a hundred times.”
“In what? A Liam Neeson movie?” I’m practically rolling on the floor at this point. “Girl, I’m telling you for the millionth time, you should have been the writer with that imagination.”
We catch up for a few more minutes, and just before we hang up, I tell her I’m going to send her some photos and videos of the cabin and scenery.
“Give Livy my love and lots of hugs and kisses, and tell your parents I said hi.”
“Thanks, Quinn. I just want you to know that I’m happy you’re living for yourself, even if I’ll tell you all the time that I miss you and wish you were back here. I’m happy for you.”
My chest tightens a little and I choke back a tear. “I know, Gen, and I appreciate it. And don’t be too sad. I’ll be home for Christmas,” I say even though I haven’t really thought about the holidays and what I plan to do yet.
“Promise?”
“Pinky,” I say before we exchange goodbyes and hang up.
I head back inside to finish unpacking before grabbing the folder Sawyer referenced earlier and flipping it open to find a local grocery store and somewhere I can grab a latte. After I finish unpacking my things and find a local bakery and market, I grab my keys and purse and make my way into town to grab a few things and some supplies to make Sawyer some muffins. Hopefully they’ll help him open up a little.
As I drive down the winding mountain roads into town, I hit the button and my windows slide down, allowing the smell of the Aspen trees to permeate the interior of the car. Taylor Swift’s “August” plays on the radio, so I lean forward and turn it up as I take in the serenity this place gives me.
An adorable bakery catches my eye as I drive slowly down Main Street. The Bean & Bun has beautiful bright-teal awnings and large picture windows decorated with tissue-paper ghosts strung from yarn, and large white pumpkins with black cats and famous scary monsters drawn on them in black marker.
I park my car and step inside, a bell ringing on the front door overhead as I step through. The sweet smell of cinnamon and confectioners’ sugar hits me instantly, and my stomach rumbles.
“Hey there, I’ll be right with you,” I hear a woman’s voice say.
I step up to the display cases and take in all the beautiful pastries and cupcakes that stare back at me. Each one looks so appetizing, I could seriously do some damage in a place like this. Before the cancer completely destroyed her, my mom and I used to get pastries from our favorite bakery every Sunday and take them to the Boise River, where we’d sit on the walkway and just enjoy a lazy morning together.
“Be careful or all this will end up on your ass and thighs in two seconds flat.”
I snort a small laugh as I turn to look at the tall blonde next to me. She’s wearing a navy blue pantsuit and her shiny hair is pulled back in a neatly styled chignon.
“I don’t doubt that for a second, but it doesn’t look like it’s stuck around on you.” I gesture to her lean frame. “I’m just trying to decide if I want instant diabetes or the slow burn of high cholesterol,” I say.
“Well, either one you choose, it’s a delicious journey. I only allow myself one treat a week, and the rest of the time it’s strictly coffee,” she replies, lifting her cup toward me.
“Probably a good idea. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“You visiting for the season?” she asks as the lady behind the counter sets a large white box on the countertop.